HE CHANGED ALL the admittance forms," the pretty nurse said. She was tall with a lean body and glossy black hair. Her nametag identified her as Sheala Whitman, RN. We were standing by the check-in desk and the admitting clerk reached across the counter and handed me the forms I'd filled out twenty minutes earlier identifying the patient as Jonathan Bodine, address unknown. That name had been erased on the top of the page and something illegible was now smudged there in pencil.

"Can't read this," I said, squinting at the writing. "He told me his name was Jonathan Bodine."

"Now he's Samik Mampuna, Crown Prince of the Bassaland," the nurse said. "He says he's from the Bassa Tribe that lives in the Central African rainforest."

"Prince Mampuna," I said, trying to sound impressed. "We should all be sure and get our pictures taken with him before he jumps on the royal jet back to Africa."

She didn't think it was funny. "We need his real name on the admitting form."

"Look, Nurse Whitman, the guy's not quite there. He stepped in front of my car and I'm trying to do the right thing and get him fixed up. If he wants to be Crown Prince Mampuna, I'm all for it. He's just a homeless guy who hears voices and needs medical help. The city will pay for this. What's the problem?"

"And you're Shane Scully of the LAPD," she said.

"Mostly I'm Shane Scully of the LAPD, except when I'm Lord Bullwinkle, the Vicar of Kent." I gave her a loony smile and she finally relented, stifling a laugh.